


A Fear of Drowning

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: if you will marry me [2]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, M/M, Possessive Tendencies, Possessive desires, not in that order, selkie!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 04:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18909127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: Four times Emile tried to give Remy his coat, and one time he finally did.





	A Fear of Drowning

_1\. 6 years old_

Emile didn’t care what Papa said – he wanted to give Remy his coat.

Because Remy was Emile’s best friend in the whole world, and Papa was right about one thing – Emile didn’t wanna marry just  _anybody_. And nobody could be better than Remy.

Emile’s coat had a special box, carved from driftwood and inlaid with pretty shells, where it stayed when he and Dad were on land. Emile was only supposed to take it out when they were leaving to go to the sea, but Papa had convince Dad that the key should be with Emile and not one of them.

He’d lowered his voice, moving to the other side of the room. Emile had heard him anyway, but he’d pretended not to.

“There could be an emergency,” Papa had said, worried, “He could need to run, and if he cannot retrieve the coat himself he is liable to end up trapped,”

Dad had been reluctant – living mostly on land was already strange for them, and he was still working out the kinks of not just  _wearing_ their coats most of the time – but he’d agreed that Logan had a very good point.

So Emile carried the silver key on a string around his neck, tucked under his shirt. It was supposed to be for emergencies (and if sometimes the emergency was his whole body itching-itching-itching, dry and rough and his whole heart crying out for the sea so hard he couldn’t restrain himself to get Dad before going to the ocean, well, his parents were pretty understanding).

Remy’s Papa, Virgil, was Emile’s Dad’s best friend, and Remy’s Dad was Papa’s (even though both of them always pretended they weren’t, but everybody knew better) so Remy, of course, was Emile’s best friend. It helped that the Prince’s were the only family in town who knew about Emile and Dad being not-quite-really-human-technically.

(Secretly, Emile thought that even if their parents weren’t friends, and Remy didn’t know, Emile still would have picked him to be his best friend, because Remy was just the best person Emile knew in the whole world).

At the moment, Remy was sitting cross legged on Emile’s bed, his head titled curiously.

“What did you wanna show me, Emi?”

Emile beamed. Only Remy called him “Emi,” because it made their names rhyme, and Emile always felt like sunlight on waves when he did.

“My parents were telling me how they got married the other day,” said Emile, going over to the trunk, “-and my Papa was real scared someone was gonna take my coat without permission, or by accident, and then I’d be married to someone i don’t love very much or not even a little,”

Remy scowled.

“I wouldn’t let anybody take you away,” he said, and he sounded  _way_ angrier than he usually did.

“I know!” said Emile, clicking the trunk open, “That’s why I’m giving it to you!”

Remy’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, gaping at the open trunk.

Emile pulled the coat out, but he’d barely held it out towards Remy before the other boy scrambled back, pressing himself against the wall with a slightly panicked expression.

“I’m not allowed!” he blurted, alarmed.

Emile cocked his head, confused and not a little bit startled by how spooked Remy seemed.

“What do you mean?”

“My dad’s said I’m not allowed,” said Remy quickly, “I already- we were talkin’ about- things, other things and they said I’m not- I can’t take it, Emi,”

Emi tried not to feel like he was gonna cry.

“Is it ‘cuz we’re too young?” he said, “That’s what Papa said, that I can’t give it to anybody till I’m eighteen,”

Remy nodded rapidly, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“Yeah, Emi, that’s why,” he said quickly.

Emile sighed, dejected. He carefully folded and replaced the coat in the trunk.

“I’ll just give it to you when we’re older then,” he sighed.

He did wonder, just a little bit, why that made Remy seem even more freaked out.

_2\. 15 years old  
_

Emile walked into Remy’s room without knocking (he’d later berate himself for not respecting people’s boundaries, but right now he was just too irate to care) threw himself down on to Remy’s bed, and screamed into the pillow for a full five seconds.

“Is this ‘my date went so good, I’m totes in love’ screaming, or 'my date went horrible, Rem go murder someone’ screaming?”

Emile just screamed again.

Remy sighed, climbing up onto the bed and stroking his fingers through Emile’s hair from the nape of his neck to the crown. Emile relaxed almost instantly.

“Emi, babe,” said Remy quietly, “You gotta talk to me,”

“I know,” whined Emile, rolling over and staring at the ceiling. He could feel his face scrunched up in frustration without his input, and it was confirmed when Remy reached over and booped Emile’s nose like he did every time.

“What’s wrong?” said Remy.

Emile grunted.

“Did he do something?” said Remy, a faintly dangerous note entering his voice, “Because I was only half kidding about the murder. Like… 45% kidding,”

“No, he was… he was fine,” said Emile, “He’s really nice, and considerate. He asked about my hobbies and he even like cartoons do. And will admit it out loud,”

He didn’t continue, and Remy waited.

“…But?” he said quietly.

Emile didn’t look at him, because what he wanted to say was,  _He isn’t you_ , and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to stop it from coming out if they made eye contact and also he’d probably cry.

“I just..” he said, deciding to talk around it, “I only have one real chance, y'know? Selkies don’t have  _divorce_. Once I give someone the coat it’s just as much theirs as it is mine,”

Remy’s hand had stilled in Emile’s hair. When he spoke, his voice sounded very careful.

“You’re afraid you’ll choose wrong,” he said quietly, “And then you won’t be able to change your mind,”

Emile nodded.

“You know you don’t have to be like your Dads, right?” said Remy, “You could wait years before giving someone the coat. You could just get married the human way and  _never_  give it to someone,”

“Or I could always give it to you,” said Emile, trying real hard to sound joking and not pathetically sincere, “Save me the trouble of looking. And you’d probably keep it safer than I do anyway,“

He was expecting Remy to roll his eyes, or scoff, or make a jokes about how Emile would be lucky to have him.

He wasn’t expecting Remy’s face to go sad and tense, or the wan smile he gave the suggestion.

"You deserve a hell of a lot better than me, babe,” he laughed, “Talk about getting stuck with someone,”

Emile frowned, bumping his fingers against Remy’s forearm.

“Why are you talking bad about my best friend?” he said, half playful and half genuinely admonishing.

“Not talking bad, just talking truth,” said Remy, “You’d get sick of me inside a year,”

“I could never get sick of you,” said Emile seriously. Remy looked a little startled.

He smiled though, and some of the sadness had left it. He leaned over and kissed Emile on the forehead as the last of it smoothed away.

“Still,” said Remy, “Save it for your true love, babe. They’re out there, I promise,”

 _You’re right here_ , Emile thought, but didn’t say

_3\. 19 years old  
_

Emile loved beach days. He loved beach days when the Prince’s came with even more.

They had to stick close to the lighthouse, so people couldn’t see them, which meant the humans had to step pretty careful around all the loose rock or risk cuts, but it also meant Emile and Dad had plenty of places to duck into to slip in and out of their coats.

And it was nice that Emile could hang out with Remy either way. Remy had a tendency to slump against Emile’s side when he was a seal, running his fingers back and forth, because Emile was “freaky smooth babe, what kind of lotion do you use?” and then Emile would laugh so hard he sometime ended up slipping out of the skin entirely and laying wrapped up in it in the sand, cackling.

Remy always dutifully covered his eyes, groaning about Emile stealing his thunder as the totally indecent one of the two of them.

“You can’t be a ho, it’s my thing,”

“You’re not a ho,” said Emile.

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m THE ho,”

This was always about the part of the conversation where Emile had to change the subject, because the reminder that Remy was willing to give almost any romance a shot but didn’t seem to even consider Emile an option had a tendency to make his voice crack.

But he was a little high on his laughing fit, so what ended up coming out of his mouth was.

“Well, maybe you are, but you’re  _my_  ho,”

And it was only about a half a second before he actually heard what he just said and turned bright, burning scarlet.

“That came out  _so_  wrong,” he said.

Remy was clearly trying very hard not to lose it.

"Really, do share,”

“I meant your my friend, and that it’s not- bad, I mean, because- obviously you’re not like,  _mine_ , mine, because I know you’d never be interested, I didn’t mean to make you- uncomfortable or hit on you-”

“What do you mean 'never be interested’?” said Remy suddenly, cutting Emile off. He looked distinctly unhappy.

Emile smiled, but he could tell it didn’t look quite right from the way Remy’s frown deepened.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Emile, “It’s not- it’s fine. I get it,”

“Get  _what_?” said Remy. Emile bit his lip, considering.

“You- I know you love me, of course, we’re best friends,” said Emile, “You don’t have to pretend I’m not kind of a dork,”

“You are a dork, that doesn’t make you  _undateable_ ,” said Remy incredulously.

“Yeah, but I’m not- cool, or super handsome, and-” he swallowed, looking out towards the ocean.

“You’re beautiful,” said Remy, and Emile huffed an exasperated smile.

“Thank you, I appreciate that. You know what I mean-”

“What I  _mean_  is that you are easily the most drop dead gorgeous person I have ever or will ever meet and as well as the best person _period,_  and I’d have to be a fucking idiot and  _blind_  not to wanna date you,” said Remy vehemently.

Remy was breathing a little heavy. Emile sat back a little, watching him warily.

There weren’t a whole lot of ways to interpret that sentence. Most of them were positive, Emile thought, but all of them were confusing.

“So…” he said hesitantly, “Why… why  _aren’t_  you?”

“Why aren’t I what?” said Remy.

“Dating me?” said Emile incredulously.

Remy’s eyes when a bit wide, and his face began to flush.

“Because I-” Emile cleared his throat, suddenly wishing he was having this conversation in literally any other situation than half-in and half-out of his own skin, “I really want to. And if you- if you do too, I would think that-?”

“You’re gonna kill me,” groaned Remy, which didn’t make sense, and then he kissed Emile, which also didn’t make sense but Emile kind of didn’t give a shit.

Emile didn’t realize he was kind of instinctively shoving his coat at Remy until their hands brushed and Remy leapt away like he’d been scalded, looking slightly panicked.

“Sorry!” said Emile, mortified.

Remy’s eyes lingered on Emile’s hands, and for a second the heated look on his face made Emile want to take back the apology, but then Emile blinked and Remy’s expression was as cocky and self assured as ever.

“No rush, right?” said Remy, his voice full of false lightness.

Emile wanted to press him, but then Remy kissed him again, and Emile found he didn’t really want to say anything else at all.

_4\. 20 years old  
_

It was going to be fine. Six months was… fast, yeah, but Emile had known Remy his whole life already so it was different right?

And he  _knew_. He always had really, known that he’d give his coat to Remy or no one, but  _now…_

Now he knew Remy wanted him  _back_.

Or at least. He was pretty sure. like… 80% sure.

The front door of Emile’s apartment thunked open, the sound of weighed down plastic bags hitting the walls heralding the arrival of his boyfriend.

“Emi, babe, could you get the door?” Remy called.

“Coming!”

Remy and Emile maneuvered around each other, Emile to the door and Remy to the coffee table, where he set the bags of take out before putting his hands on his hips in triumph.

“Look how skilled a hunter I am,” he joked.

“If I wanted hunted fish I’d get it myself,” laughed Emile, ducking under Remy’s arm and tugging on his shirt until Remy leaned down for Emile to kiss his cheek. “It doesn’t get beer battered that way, though,”

Remy huffed a fond laugh into Emile’s neck, nuzzling just so, and Emile’s chest swelled with affectionate warmth.

“So, what’s on today’s playbill?” said Remy, still speaking against Emile’s skin, which was both unfair and counterproductive if he wanted Emile to actually listen, “I’m too tired to think, can it be something we’ve already watched?”

Emile twisted his face so he kissed Remy square on the mouth, fierce and tinged with enough alarm that Remy tensed up after his initial automatic response.

“I’ll go get it,” said Emile, trying and failing to keep his voice level, “In my room, I’ll just- sit down,”

Remy’s expression was wary, but Emile bolted before he could let it get to his head.

The coat was always the right size for Emile- it  _was_  Emile, literally a part of him – but it had never felt heavier in his hands than it did right now.

He paused in the hallway, just outside of Remy’s line of sight. He took one deep, steadying breath and stepped into the living room.

Remy looked up, and immediately looked like he’d been clubbed over the head.

“I know you said no rush,” Emile blurted, “But I think- I think it’s not rushed, really, because I- I guess I don’t know about you but I’ve loved you basically forever and I-”

“No,”

Emile felt like all the liquid in his cells froze to ice instantly.

“I- huh?”

“ _No_ ,” said Remy, even more firmly, “I’m not- I won’t take it, Emi,”

The ice was cracking now, and Emile felt adrift, cold and confused.

“You don’t… want…?”

“Babe,” said Remy, “I- c’mon, don’t you wanna watch something?”

“No!” said Emile incredulously, “You- I’m proposing to you and you’re- you’re just going to, what, change the subject?”

“Emi,”

“Don’t  _Emi_  me, right now, are you even- are you even going to _explain_?”

“What’s wrong with what we have?” pleaded Remy, “This is good, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Of course it’s good, it’s-  _you’re_  the best part of my life!”

Remy didn’t seem to find that comforting. Instead, he winced.

Emile pulled back. He was- he wasn’t being fair. Just because Emile had been in love with Remy for what felt like his entire life didn’t mean Remy was exactly the same – maybe this  _was_  just too soon for him. Emile needed to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a little thick, “I got ahead of myself, I didn’t mean to rush you,”

“You’re not rushing me,” said Remy.

“It’s okay,” said Emile, “I don’t want you to feel… pressured, so maybe- maybe you could ask instead? When you’re ready?”

“I’m  _never_  going to ask for your coat, _”_

Emile gaped.

Remy’s hand slapped over his own mouth.

“…Oh,” said Emile. He’d never heard his voice sound so glacially cold.

Remy removed his hand, but he didn’t say anything else.

“I see,” said Emile quietly.

“Emi-”

“So this- this doesn’t mean anything to you?” said Emile.

“Don’t say that-”

“Or it does but it’s just, what temporary? For you? Because this is- really not temporary for me,” he shook the coat a little bit, “Obviously,”

“It’s not like that,” whispered Remy.

“Don’t you even  _want me?_ ” said Emile, and he tried to sound angry or frustrated or anything other than pathetically heartbroken and failed miserably.

Remy swallowed, his expression agonized.

“I gotta go,” he said hollowly.

Emile didn’t watch Remy leave, and he didn’t cry until the door shut behind him.

_+1  
_

Emile wanted to call his Dad and tell him everything. Emile wanted to make sure his Dad never found out about this ever.

Because this wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. It wasn’t supposed to end with Emile crying, alone, laying on his couch with his coat held against his chest while two people’s worth of fish fry got cold on his coffee table.

He should get up. He should put his coat back in it’s box and lock it up and go to bed.

But locking up the coat… it felt so  _final_. Like it really was over. Like Remy really didn’t want him, or at least not for forever, and maybe Emile should just be grateful for even that because Remy didn’t  _owe_ him anything. Remy had every right to not want to be trapped with Emile for the rest of his life.

And that was the thought that finally broke him.

Emile sighed, sitting up and letting the coat slip off his lap onto the couch next to him. He sniffed, glancing up and squinting at the wall clock, barely visible in near-darkness. The sun had long since set and Emile hadn’t got up to turn on the light.

Well after two AM.

Emile pressed the heels of his hands int his eyes, grunting. He moved to get off the couch.

And then something started banging on his apartment door.

Traitorous hope and a not-insignificant amount of frustration started warring in Emile’s stomach. It was the middle of the night, there was no need for the  _racket_.

He left his coat on the couch, following the noise and cautiously opening the door.

Remy pushed past him instantly, already talking a mile a minute.

“Look, I’m sorry for coming here, I know you don’t wanna see me and I know  _damn_  well you’re not gonna wanna see me after this but I couldn’t leave it like that, Emi, you deserve- so much better than me just running away like a coward-”

“Remy, slow dow-”

“I love you,” blurted Remy, ragged, like it had been dragged out of him. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. It was the first time it sounded like it  _hurt him_  to say it.

Emile inhaled and let it out slowly.

“Okay,” he said weakly, “I love you, too. I get it,”

“No, you absolutely do not,” Remy laughed humorlessly.

Emile sighed.

“Okay,” he repeated, voice level, “Then explain it to me,”

“I love you,” Remy said again, just as pained, “I love you so much, and I’m gonna love you forever. Of course I want you forever,”

The hope redoubled, warring with confusion and  _dread_  because Remy didn’t look at all happy about the words coming out of his mouth.

“Then why-”

“I want you  _too much_ , babe,” Remy said, “Not the good way. Not the  _right_ way,”

Emile was still confused, and before he could think about it he’d taken one shuffling step forward and Remy made a pained noise. Emile retreated instantly.

“I don’t understand, Rem,” he said helplessly.

Remy dragged his hands down his face, before tugging furiously at the hair on the side of his head and speaking like he was being held at gun-point.

“I’m afraid I won’t give it back,” he choked out.

Emile tensed reflexively.

“Fuck, I used to- all the time thinking about taking the box, you wore the key around your  _neck_  for goodness sake, I knew exactly where it was, and you napped around me all the time-”

“You-”

Emile should probably be horrified. He was definitely a little freaked out. But the fact that Remy looked  _way_ more freaked out than Emile felt was making his brain stall a bit.

“And that’s  _so_  not cool, or okay, it’s actually  _supes_  creepy and possessive and-” Remy swallowed, moving his hands from his hair to the front of his shirt, scrunching the fabric in fists and releasing it, over and over.

“Because if you give me your coat, it’s only a matter of time before you regret it, and you’ll want to go back to the sea and I don’t trust myself not to hide the damn thing so you can’t leave,”

Remy shook his head rapidly.

“And like, how  _fucked_  up would that be, what kinda  _monster_  thinks about imprisoning someone they love and- then you’d waste away to nothing and be miserable and it would be  _my fault_ ,”

Remy’s eyes were glassy when he looked back at Emile, and the smile on his face was bitter and brittle.

“So, no, babe, I’m not gonna take your coat. Not ever. Not if there’s a chance I’ll hurt you with it. I’d die first,”

Emile mind was rapidly sifting through the dump of information he’d just gotten, fitting it into some coherent picture.

Emile’s mouth twitched. It was a jumble of self-hatred, guilt, insisting that Remy was a danger to Emile and yet abhorring the idea of hurting him. Contradictory. Remy always was.

Spine straightening with resolve, Emile turned back to the couch. Remy made a questioning noise, and when Emile turned back around with his coat in his hand he went as pale and faintly green as sea-foam.

“You aren’t listening-” started Remy, taking a step back, but Emile didn’t give him an inch, stalking forward until they were toe to toe. Remy’s hand were held in the air, a universal hands-off sign, and the coat was clutched to Emile’s chest.

Emile moved the coat forward, laying it against Remy’s.

“Take it,”

“No,”

“Take it, Remy,” Emile repeated softly, “I trust you,”

“ _I_ don’t trust me,”

“Then I trust you enough for both of us,” said Emile wetly, “You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. And you do, too. You said it yourself, that you’d rather die,”

Remy bit his lip, still pale and shaking.

“But I  _thought_  about-”

Emile shifted his coat to one hand, slipping the other up Remy’s chest to cup his face. Remy leaned into it, almost reflexively.

“Everybody has bad thoughts,” said Emile quietly, “That make them ashamed. It doesn’t make you bad unless you act on them,”

“But what if I  _do_  act on them?” said Remy desperately.

“You were willing to give me up completely rather than risk taking my choice away,” said Emile. “If that’s not enough for you, I don’t know what would be, Rem,”

He ran his thumb across Remy’s cheek.

“It’s enough for me,” he said softly, “More than enough,”

Remy was looking at Emile like a sunrise was dawning on his face and Remy had never seen one. The wasn’t a single spot of possessiveness in his gaze, just sheer, awestruck adoration.

“Take it,” Emile said, tapping Remy’s chest one last time.

Remy swallowed.

“Are you  _sure?_ ”

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” said Emile.

Slowly, Remy’s hand lowered, and Emile didn’t break their eye contact or his serene expression.

Remy laid his hands on the coat.

Emile let go.

There was a long moment, where the scene seemed frozen. Emile shivered, suddenly cold, but not unpleasantly so, and felt like something  _shifted_  inside him.

The tension went out of Remy’s shoulders bit by bit. He folded the coat, gentle and reverent, and held it between his hands.

“Should probably put it away,” he said, his voice faint.

Emile held out his hands for the coat and Remy tried to relinquish it instantly, his hands shaking. But Emile didn’t take it, just put his own hands over Remy’s and began to pull him toward Emile’s bedroom.

“Uh, Emi?”

“Hmm?”

“What are we doing?”

“Putting the coat away,” said Emile, pulling the key out from under his shirt as he spoke. He let go of the coat as he unlocked the box, his heart clenching at the alarmed noise Remy made. He reached out again when the box was open and guided Remy’s hands to place it inside. The lock clicked shut.

Remy finally relaxed when it did, pulling out a feigned smile and opening his mouth to probably make some kind of snarky comment.

Emile cut him off, gripping him by the open sides of his leather jacket and dragging him into an uncharacteristically fierce kiss.

Remy responded instantly, if a little surprised. The surprise quickly melted into enthusiasm and then desperation, until they were pressed right up against each other, so close that Remy’s pushing to get closer had bent Emile so far back that Remy’s was supporting a significant amount of his weight.

“Holy  _shit_ ,” Remy gasped into Emile’s mouth.

Emile leaned back heavily, pulling Remy down with him, relishing in the gobsmacked expression on his – husband, husband,  _Emile’s husband!_  – husbands face.

“Wedding nights are more of a human tradition,” said Emile, nibbling kisses along Remy jaw, his pulse and his collarbone, “But I’m  _very_ interested if you are,”

“Emi, babe, you’re gonna kill me,” Remy groaned, sealing their mouths together and rolling them into the middle of the bed.

Emile’s key sat on the bedside table, well within arm’s reach of both of them.

And for the rest of the night, Remy didn’t look at it once.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [ tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors ](%E2%80%9Dtulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) on tumblr and you are legally obligated to @ me in your remile content


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